


Winter's Child

by KayOsmondsFireweedFoundation



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Feral!Snufkin, Gen, Minor Character Death, Will tag as I go along, Winter Joxter, at least not initially, formatting Joxter's dialogue is a complete nightmare, snufkin doesn't have a name, snufkin murders a smol creature in the first chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 21:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19036009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayOsmondsFireweedFoundation/pseuds/KayOsmondsFireweedFoundation
Summary: He knew his father’s voice; it was the voice of winter. Not winter as most folk know it, with hot cocoa, twinkly lights and pretty snowflakes. No, his father’s voice was one of naked, skeletal branches and great walls of impassable snow; of a chill that sucked the heat and life out of everything it touched. His father’s voice was one of dead things, tinged with the pallor of hypothermic lips.It was also the only voice he had ever known. It was the voice that had taught him to speak; the voice that had guided him from his earliest recollection. It had taught him to fish, to find shelter, to make fire. It was the only voice that had everlovedhim.





	Winter's Child

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is inspired by artwork drawn by [abyssalzones](https://abyssalzones.tumblr.com/post/183300978954/since-moominvalley-is-out-now-thought-id-post-my) and [liebrenado](https://liebrenado.tumblr.com/post/185216215876/mspaint-is-still-fun).  
> For an idea of what I'm going for with Joxter's dialogue and general presence, check out [Dagre](https://www.meekcomic.com/comic/2-36/) from the webcomic 'The Meek'.  
> The feral Snufkin I'm imagining is based on that drawn by [azkme0](https://www.instagram.com/azkme0/).

_“K I T.”_

He heard it twisting in on the wind, low and grinding and guttural. He knew his father’s voice; it was the voice of winter. Not winter as most folk know it, with hot cocoa, twinkly lights and pretty snowflakes. No, his father’s voice was one of naked, skeletal branches and great walls of impassable snow; of a chill that sucked the heat and life out of everything it touched. His father’s voice was one of dead things, tinged with the pallor of hypothermic lips.

It was also the only voice he had ever known. It was the voice that had taught him to speak; the voice which had guided him from his earliest recollection. It had taught him to fish, to find shelter, to make fire. It was the only voice that had ever _loved_ him.

He was close, he could sense it now. He skittered down from the tree that had provided his shelter for the night and rushed to meet his papa.

A long, drawn-out figure etched itself into being out of the shadows between trees. His coat billowed gently, like that of drowned man suspended underwater. Two eyes, incandescent blue, materialized out of the night to burn in the darkness. 

_“M Y   S O N.”_

He threw his arms around the black stalks of his father’s legs and pressed a cheek to their chilly surface. It was so rare that he got to see him in person, their time together too short before the winter became overwhelming and he had to retreat south.

_“I   H A V E   B R O U G H T   Y O U   P R E Y ,  K I T.  S U S T E N A N C E.”_

He stepped back and stood up on tiptoe so as to watch as the long talons unhinged to reveal the wretched little creature quivering within. He reached up to take it, only to retract when it cried out.

“Please! Please don’t!”

He glanced up to meet his father’s impassive gaze.

_“I F   Y O U   A R E   T O   L E A R N   T H E   H U N T ,   K I T ,   Y O U   M U S T   F I R S T   L E A R N   T O **K I L L** ”_

Still, he hesitated. “I’ve killed things before,” he said, which was true, although he hadn’t killed something that _talked_ before.

 _“T H E   H U N T   I S   I N D I S R I M I N A T E,”_ his father breathed in a rush of frigid mist, _“S O   Y O U   M U S T   B E   A S   W E L L .  
D E A T H   H A S   N O   F A V O U R I T E S.”_

He nodded; he understood. Without further deliberation, he plucked the struggling creature from his father’s hand.

“Please, no! No! No, no, no…”

He cut off its cries by snapping its neck. Then he bit off its head, crunching the bones with relish.

 _“W E L L  D O N E.”_ His father’s voice warmed, ever so slightly.

He made an appreciative little noise then patted his father’s legs, indicating that he wanted him to sit. He obliged, knees bending to the sound of icebergs cracking, and made room for his son to climb into his lap.

He settled down comfortably before setting to work stripping the corpse in his paws, the warm blood dribbling down his chin staving off the biting cold of his father’s being. For now. They both knew it couldn’t last; even with the immunity inherent to his heritage, he knew that if he rested here too long that the very blood would freeze in his veins. And then his father would be alone all together, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that.

 _“Y O U   H A V E   C O M E   S O   F A R ,  K I T.”_ His father’s hand ghosted about the space around his head without touching him; too much direct contact might mean death. _“I   F E E L   T H A T   Y O U   A R E   A L M O S T   R E A D Y   T O   J O I N   M E.”_

He started. “Really?”

 _“Y E S.  B U T.”_ His father looked down at him with grave and terrible eyes.

_“T H E   W I N T E R S   G R O W   H A R S H E R   W I T H   E A CH   P A S S I N G   Y E A R.  I   K N O W   I T   W I L L   B E   D I F F I C U L T ,  
B U T   Y O U   M U S T   L E A R N   T O   T A K E   L A R G E R   P R E Y   I F   Y O U   A R E   T O   S U R V I V E.”_

“Alright. And then I’ll be able to stay with you?”

_“Y E S.”_

He caught the fluttering edges of his father’s coat and pulled himself in against his chest. He didn’t want to learn to hunt larger prey, but he also didn’t want to keep travelling south. He didn’t want to keep leaving his papa alone.

_“K I T.”_

Frost had started to form in his hair. With a heavy heart, he slid from his father’s embrace.

 _“H A V E   C O U R A G E ,  M Y   S O N ,”_ his father comforted him.  
_“I T   W O N ‘ T   T A K E   L O N G   N O W.  Y O U   G R O W   S T R O N G E R   B Y   T H E   D A Y.”_

He nodded. Satisfied, his father rose and turned back, melting into the trees like a column of smoke.

**Author's Note:**

> LaRgEr PrEy, YoU sAy?? I wOnDeR WhOm ThAt MiGhT rEfEr To?? HMMMMMMMMMMM  
> [ poetry/writing tumblr](https://kay-osmonds-fireweed-foundation.tumblr.com/)  
> [poetry instagram](https://www.instagram.com/fireweedfoundation/)


End file.
